


Spit His Pity Right Back In His Face

by mmmelmoth



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Dark Thoughts, Emotionally Repressed, Enemies to Friends, Gryffindor vs. Slytherin Rivalry, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Sort Of, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Why do I keep writing for fandoms that are dead, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000, music references, this is somehow dark and wholesome at once, tw: attempted suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2020-01-11 21:04:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18432077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmmelmoth/pseuds/mmmelmoth
Summary: McGonagall and Slughorn find a way for the brightest students of their houses to stop fighting over everything and nothing OR how Javert and Valjean got parent-trapped by their teachers and everything escalated





	1. Look Down

“Mr. Javert, look at me when I’m addressing you.” Professor McGonagall looked everything but happy with Slytherin’s Prefect, who was defiantly staring ahead, his hands folded behind his back. Reluctantly, he raised his head to meet her eyes. “I understand that this little …feud has grown very important to you, but I must ask you to act more maturely and according to your position. Other students rely on you. And on a different note, it’s time you perhaps start investing in your future instead of getting wound up on petty fights in the present.” Javert’s eyes blazed. He pushed his chin upwards and replied, his words thick with childish arrogance: “My future’s invested in all right, Ma’am.” “How delightful to hear,” McGonagall didn’t move a muscle, she was evidently unimpressed, “You’ve probably had this conversation with your own head of house already, but do tell me: What lies ahead for the boy who won’t leave Jean Valjean alone?” Said boy swallowed, repelled to be called a boy once more – he was sixteen, almost seventeen, old enough to be treated as a grownup – and he straightened his posture. “I’m going to become an Auror. The best there is.” “Great aspirations, I see. You do your house justice. If you quit attempting to prove something with this Valjean boy, you would even bring it honour.” McGonagall turned, her sleek green robes ruffling along her feet. At the same time as she said “You’re dismissed”, Javert burst out: “You’re telling me to quit only because he’s a Gryffindor!” “It seems you haven’t quite been listening to me. Try considering it, yes?” Suddenly very exhausted, Professor McGonagall signalled to the door: “I have matters to attend to. And you have duties. Be off, Mr. Javert.” Without another word, Javert stalked out of her office, head held high as ever, his hands clutched as fists.

 

“Your name” ordered the new Prefect, Javert. “I don’t have to tell you my name!” The Fouth-Year with the shabby brown curls shot back. “You do. Students breaking rules are my responsibility, and you were stealing.” “I was not stealing. I’m just taking some bread from the kitchens because a girl in my house missed breakfast and she has Quidditch practice coming up – “ “Your _name_.” Jean Valjean was interrupted. Defiantly, he told the older boy. “That’s twenty points from Gryffindor. Ten for trespassing – everyone knows the kitchens are off limits unless you’re told otherwise – and ten for stealing.” “It’s a _loaf of bread_!” Valjean complained. “Argue with me and loose more points. The name’s Javert.” They stared at each other angrily. “Well, good for you. Want me to write it down?” The Gryffindor deadpanned, causing Javert to clench his fists. “You might as well. Stay out of trouble, Valjean.” Composedly, Javert strutted away towards his Common Room, where he’d break up a fight between two First-Years. In the following year, Valjean did not entirely stay out of trouble. And every time, the Slytherin was ready to catch him red-handed, even if it was only the slightest bending of a Hogwarts rule. All because of a loaf of bread.

 

“The two of you in one room, not at each other’s throats. I’d say that’s a sight for sore eyes.” Horace Slughorn grimaced, and the boys took turns in furiously glaring at each other. “Because, as you most likely know, you’re both such promising students. Nobody casts a Stupefying Charm quite as well as Mr. Javert. And there is no match for Mr. Valjean when it comes to Protecting Spells. Your future holds a lot, no doubt, and yet you’ve chosen to stand in each other’s way.” Slughorn went on, and when both of them wanted to interrupt, he ignored them. Or maybe he simply didn’t notice, lost in his own ramblings. “I’ve had a talk with my young colleague Minerva, and it’s disappointing how you decided to keep this pointless rivalry up. We wish you’d profit from what the other has to offer, or at least stop wasting valuable energy on… I don’t even know what it is you do. It just has to stop. Which is why we, Minerva and I, being your Heads of House, determined the **suitable** measure that needs to be taken: For the next months, you, Mr. Javert, will assist Mr. Valjean in studying for his OWLs. You’ve taken the exams last year, therefore there’s no one better suited to prepare him for it, especially since it was you who wasted away the time he should’ve spent studying in the first place. I will hear no complaints!” He raised his voice when both of them attempted to start arguing, and continued: “Every Sunday, Tuesday, and Thursday my Potions classroom is at your disposal, and I have installed a portrait to control whether you come to each meeting. Should you not, there will be worse punishments for each of you. Take this as an opportunity to put this childishness behind you, boys. Dismissed.” And Slughorn walked out of the room, leaving the two of them. “This isn’t fair!” Valjean exploded, “I did nothing wrong! He’s the one who keeps pursuing me, pretending I’m the criminal of the century, while there’s a Second-Year in Hufflepuff who morphs herself into teachers and blows up firecrackers in the Courtyard!” But Slughorn was out of hearing distance. “Quit shifting the blame!” Javert hissed, turning away from the Gryffindor. “Quit finding blame to put on me, Javert. Why can’t you just leave me be?” Valjean thought the conversation was over when Javert grabbed his stuff and stormed towards the door, but he stopped in the frame, replying: “’Cause you’re the worst.” Then he was gone.

 

They successfully avoided each other until Thursday, their first day of forced extra lessons together. When Jean got there, Javert was already sitting at a table near the front of the classroom, hands folded, quill and ink laid out. He looked at his watch to see he was just on time, and the other boy must’ve been way too early. Javert turned around to him, scanning him dismissively. “I checked in with the portrait. It requires us to stay for two hours and then it’ll report back to Professor Slughorn that we did as was asked.” Putting down his cape and bag on the chair next to Javert, Valjean shrugged. “Two hours three times a week, that’s not so bad.” Narrowing his eyes, Javert still didn’t turn away. “Are you being sarcastic? Cause that’ll cost you – “ “I was not.” Valjean cut him off, taking his seat. It felt like the high ground belonged to him now. Confidently, he went on: “My best subjects are Charms and Defense Against The Dark Arts, I don’t need your help there.” “Someone’s particularly arrogant today.” The Slytherin snorted, unasked for, but Valjean was quick to retort: “ _Someone_ can’t tell apart arrogance and the healthy ability to self-asses. What are your best subjects? What do you think you can help me with?” “Defense Against The Dark Arts. Potions. …We should see who’s better.” Javert’s always so stern mouth twitched into a smile, only for a second, and Valjean could barely believe his eyes. “…That’s nonsense.” He replied, “You know more spells than I do, it wouldn’t be fair - “ But Javert was already up, drawing his wand: “You want to learn something? There’s no better way than to actually practise.” Reluctantly, Valjean found himself getting up as well, while trying to argue. “I told you I don’t need help with Defense Against The Dark Arts. Besides, Duelling is forbidden.” “It’s not a duel if we don’t do the official stances first. _Stupefy_!” A red bolt sprung from Javert’s birch wand, meeting the invisible wall Valjean put up in the last possible second by yelling “ _Protego_!” The smile started dancing around Javert’s lips again. “There’s the famous protection charm Slughorn talked about. Is that all you got?” “This is ridiculous, Javert.” Valjean gripped his wand a little tighter, brushing a brown curl out of his face. At the same time, he was hit with Javert’s _Diffindo_ , which sliced his uniform jacket open. He stared at it with disbelief. “Are you insane? You could’ve hurt me!” “Don’t worry. I’m going easy on you, Valjean.” The smug smirk on his opponent’s face flipped a switch somewhere inside Valjean. “Don’t.” His teeth clenched and shouted the Body Binding Charm, which was deflected by Javert. “You know First Year spells? You’re right, you’re incorrigible.” He laughed, throwing another _Diffindo_ Valjean’s way. But Jean’s shield was up in time. “Third Year.” He corrected, only lowering his shield to cast _Depulso_ as Javert got ready to hex him again. The charm hit its target full frontally, throwing the Slytherin into a shelf of empty vials with a loud crash. Only for the briefest second, Valjean felt victorious, then everything was replaced with regret. Javert seemed puzzled at first, but as he pushed himself up from the debris his eyes were flaring with anger. “You’re paying for this.” He announced, and Valjean didn’t flinch back as he approached. “I only did what you told me to.” He reasoned, head high and voice clear. It only pushed Javert further over the edge. “ _Stupefy_! _Confringo_! _Incendio_!” Sweat formed on Valjean’s brow as he deflected each one of the spells. “Stop it, Javert!” He shouted in between conjuring shields. “I thought you wanted to learn something!” Javert quipped back, face contorted with focus and fury, “ _Flipiendo_!” When Valjean decided to give up the defense to go into the offense, his _Expelliarmus_ collided with Javert’s _Bombarda_. The two connected in the middle, sizzling and crackling, sending shocks up each of their arms. But they didn’t pull back. “Javert, don’t you see this is pointless!” Valjean strained, not bothering to not let it show. “What’s pointless? Your sorry life?” Javert’s face was glistening with sweat by now. And Valjean had had enough. He stepped closer, pushing the collision point of the charms closer together, and he socked Javert on the jaw. The Slytherin went down. As soon he was on his feet again, he found Valjean’s ebony wand pointed into his face. “This is against duel regulations. You cheated.” Javert spat, unwilling to accept his defeat. “I thought this wasn’t a duel?” For the first time, a hint of a smile flickered across Jean Valjean’s face. He went on: “I’m going to take down my wand now. We can try to get some actual work done.” They sat back down at the desk. Javert felt like a kicked dog, and he hated every bit of it. Minutes went by until he opened his mouth again. “I’m one of the students who didn’t completely fail History of Magic. If you need – “ “That’s perfect!” Valjean interrupted, relieved, “Binns always sleeps during the lectures, so we don’t learn anything from him and I actually need a good grade in History of Magic if I want to make Minister one day…” “You want to become Minister?” Surprised at his own interest, Javert didn’t notice how quickly the question had slipped out. Embarrassed, he attempted to go over it: “We can start with the Goblin Rebellion in 1612. I remember that well enough, plus it’s an interesting topic…” Two hours were over in no time. With a look at his watch once they’d finished the topic, Jean realised they’d even worked half an hour longer than they were required to. “Thanks for helping me.” He said quietly while packing away his stuff. Only then he looked up at the dirty blond boy next to him, and noticed the red-turning-blue imprint of his punch underneath his mouth. “Let me _Episkey_ that for you.” He offered, reaching out, but Javert violently jerked back. “I can take care of it myself.” The excuse wasn’t enough to make his behaviour seem normal, but since he didn’t know what else to do he grabbed his coat and went for the door. “See you Sunday.” And Javert had disappeared. Valjean was left to charm the vials they’d broken in their confrontation to be whole again, and to try a _Reparo_ charm on his jacket. Then he turned to the portrait next to the teacher’s desk. “Are you going to tell Slughorn that this went well?” But the veiled lady only smiled mysteriously at him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying it so far! The following chapters aren't quite as long as this one, and feel free to tell me your thoughts in the comments, I love to read them.


	2. The Confrontation

The only spells Javert had never been able to execute perfectly had to be, of course, healing spells. In the bathroom he stared at the ugly bruise next to his chin that reminded him of his defeat, his misery, his being no better than a mudblood Fifth Year, Merlin, his being _worse_ than that. He couldn’t stand his own sight, and he skipped dinner, hiding in the Owlery where he knew it was dark and people left there as quickly as they came because of the smell. Luckily, he’d found a corner that didn’t smell, right by one of the windows, that happened to have a good view of the starry night sky too. The view downwards was almost as appealing. “Javert? Is that you?” A too familiar voice interrupted his thoughts. Always interrupting, wasn’t he? “Bugger off, Valjean.” He tried to sound neutral, which was hard with all the chaos in his head. “What are you doing up here?” The Gryffindor insisted. “None of your business. Thank you for this conversation. You can go now.” The more he said, the more his voice betrayed. All he hoped for was that Jean Valjean would simply leave him alone. Right? But the Fifth Year joined him, standing next to the windowsill he was sitting on. “You should get down from there, it’s dangerous.” Valjean said quietly. “Since when do you care?” Javert snapped, looking at his nemesis in the dark at last. Neither of them spoke. Until Valjean spotted the bruise that was blue enough by now to stand out even in the barely lit owlery. “Why didn’t you heal it?” The concern in his voice sounded real enough. Stupid Saint Valjean. “Because I like the pain. It looks good on me.” Javert lied, “Now leave me alone.” “Will you let me fix it?” As if the Slytherin was a rabid animal, Valjean approached slowly. “It won’t gain you any points for Gryffindor.” Staring defiantly ahead, Javert did everything possible to avoid eye contact. And Valjean touched his rough fingertips to his skin, turning Javert’s head towards himself. The cool wood of his wand connected with his skin, and the breathed words “ _Episkey_ ” sent a tingling sensation across the Prefect’s entire face. That had to be the spell, then. “You didn’t have to do this.” Javert said through clenched teeth. Valjean shrugged, “Look at it as a peace offer.” “I don’t want your pity.” His heart beating faster, Javert swung his legs down from the windowsill, “I don’t want anything from you.” According to the change in Valjean’s expression his words had contained exactly the right amount of poison, but he couldn’t help suddenly feeling sick. “I mean it when I say leave me alone.” One last cold glare at the Fifth Year, and he walked away purposefully, finding the stairs in the dark and hurrying back to his Dorms, never stopping to feel like he was about to throw up. In bed, he cried until he fell asleep.

 

_It’s not enough that I’m pathetic. No, he of all people has to swoop in and act like he’s saving the day. He must feel really good about himself. Does he think I need his help, his pity? I’m no one to be looked down on. That’s the last thing I’ve ever wanted to be. And he is in no position to put himself above me. First he beats me like a common ruffian, and the next time around he’s the epitome of the Good Samaritan. It doesn’t make any sense. Professors Slughorn and McGonagall don’t know how cruel they’re being by jamming us together. He’s nothing but dirt with a contorted self-view and I’m …_ His quill came to an abrupt stop. The parchment looked like a crime scene of ink, his cursive handwriting smudged with hurry. Had this helped to get some things out of his system? Before he could find an answer to that question or an end for his sentence, the hinges of the Potions classroom door squeaked open. For a second he thought about asking “Can we not talk today? I’ll take a look at your essay and give you notes if you just shut your mouth the whole time. I can’t bear it.” Even in his head it sounded so intimate, so vulnerable that he couldn’t make himself say it aloud. Before he thought of something else to say, Valjean began talking. “Binns loved the History Of Magic essay you helped me with. If I deciphered his handwritten commentary right, he believes I’m finally figuring it out. McGonagall suggested we focus on Transfigurations this time because… I haven’t been too attentive in her class.” Javert lacked the strength to inquire who or what diverted his attention in the first place, or to tease him about it. The fire Valjean made him feel was burning just as mercilessly as before, but he couldn’t let it divulge him like every other time, and see himself put on the spot again. No, he had to be smart about it. And regain some of his strength. “What do you want to revise? _Evanesco_? _Vera Verto_?” Even in his own ears, Javert’s voice sounded raspier than usual while he asked that. “I’ve been having trouble with _Orchideus_.” Valjean admitted, attempting a smile. But the other boy didn’t even take note of it, he simply stood up and waited for the Gryffindor to join him in the centre of the classroom. The blush that made its way up Valjean’s neck and cheeks while they spent the time to come conjuring the most beautiful flowers to their wandtips also went unnoticed by Javert, stupidly, who discarded the flowers onto the floor by the end of the lesson. “We’re done.” He informed him, signalling for him to grab his belongings, “I’ll make the leftovers vanish. You can get out of my sight now.” “Let me help you.” Valjean was already readying his wand again, but Javert repeated firmly – as if he was going to gain the upper hand by doing this solo – “Just go.” Confused, Valjean left the classroom while Javert cast _Evanesco_ on the tragically pretty flowers. Once the door clicked in its lock, he froze. The next charm he cast was _Incendio_ and he stood with his jaws clenched, watching the petals wilt in the flames. Upon leaving the room he felt a strange mix of liberation and turmoil, like he was flying high and out of control, so he was all the more surprised to find someone right there in the hallway. Not just anyone. Of course no other than Jean Valjean, on the ground, with an unconscious brunette in his arms. “Valjean!” Javert bellowed, before he could even make sense of the scene. “You need to get help quickly, Javert!” The Gryffindor shouted back in distress, looking up from his housemate. “What did you do to her?” “She found me like this! I think she’s been cursed. We need someone!” And even though he was thinking _It’s dangerous to touch cursed objects or people, you shouldn’t!_ he kept arguing as he approached the two of them: “You’re the only one around, you expect me to believe you’re innocent? Move away from her!” “Her name is Fantine, she’s in the Year below me. She has a blind little sister who relies on her, we need to get help – “ “I said move away!” Not knowing what he was doing at all, Javert drew his wand on Valjean. Eyes flaming, Valjean stared back at him and pressed out through gritted teeth: “See some common sense here, Javert! This isn’t about you and me.” “I never said it is.” Javert interrupted, not letting him finish, but Valjean went on: “Can you stand above your arrogant, vile self just this one time and help, for Merlin’s beard – “ “You don’t get to call me vile!” Javert snapped, stepping closer, pointing his wand between Valjean’s eyebrows. His hand was shaking with the power he felt, his nemesis on the ground, helpless… “What, because I’m a muggleborn? A filthy mudblood?” While he said the words, Valjean gently put Fantine down and stood up to Javert’s eye level. Slowly, he drew his own wand, never breaking eye contact and placed it inches away from his opponent’s forehead, “I have news for you, dickwad. No matter the circumstances I was born in, I’ll overpower you anywhere. I’m stronger. And you need to _get over yourself_ , man.” Javert’s shaking became uncontrollable. His mouth twitched. “You don’t know a single thing about me.” All of his face was covered in sweat, and he wasn’t in control of his words any more, “I’m a dirty mudblood like you. My parents were useless, mindless muggles. But you’re wrong. I’ll beat you. You’ll see. I’ll win.” He could think of only one spell to cast, and he was this close to ending this conflict once and for all. “You’re not thinking straight.” Valjean decided, putting his own wand away. He picked up Fantine as if she weighed nothing and moved down the hallway, saying no more. Javert’s wand was to his back, his lips quivering, not sure what stopped him from casting the spell. _Avada Ked-_


	3. The Barricade

In private, Javert consulted Slughorn after their last meeting. He gave himself as humble as possible, even hushing his own voice when he asked if, in this week of his exams would he be excused from extra lessons with Valjean so he could prepare himself? Slughorn, of course always sympathetic towards his favourites, granted him this favour. A small victory. And even though he managed to avoid his nemesis for a week, the other boy never left his mind. His throat tightened at the thought of any spell to cast really, because all of them were about Jean Valjean now. Killing Curses. Protection Charms. Even stupid, flower-conjuring spells. He could still smell the burned orchids on his robes, or maybe it was his mind playing tricks on him. Not once did he feel fully alone, not even when he was making his way to his exams, out of the empty classroom he’d been revising in. When he stepped into the hallway, he stopped short. He was confronted with an enormous pile of furniture that cut off his way into the Great Hall. For a moment, he couldn’t believe his eyes. Sure, this was Hogwarts, where stairs moved, house elves cooked dinner and a giant squid inhabited the lake for some reason, but an entire barricade appearing out of nowhere didn’t make sense to him. The castle couldn’t be malevolent towards a single student, could it? Or had it been… Valjean. He was already clenching his fists, wand tightly enclosed in his right one when some children climbed over the top of the barricade, sitting down on the mess. “Good evening, Mr. Prefect!” The blond, curly-haired one shouted down boldly. “Did you see the one responsible?” Javert demanded, pointing his wand at his throat and casting _Sonor_ under his breath so they’d hear him well enough. “You’re looking at them!” The kid replied, seeming pleased with himself and his friends. Their Gryffindor ties caught the sunlight. “That doesn’t make any sense. What about Valjean?” Javert muttered to himself, but the boy went on: “You’re the one who took so many house points from Gryffindor. We don’t need to be Prefects to know that’s not fair. But the teachers aren’t doing anything, so we’re making you miss your exam. If you get suspended, Gryffindor will definitely win the House Cup!” He grinned at his raven-haired friend next to him on top of the barricade. They couldn’t be older than Year 2 students. “Where did you get all this stuff? How did you - ?” Javert ignored the boy’s speech, only to be cut off again. “Don’t you know? The Room Of Requirement is right here. Besides, we had magic glue to make everything stick and, uh, Peeves helped us.” On cue, the poltergeist flew out of a piano that was somehow part of the construction, missed Javert’s face by a finger’s width and cackled when the Prefect flinched. “I can never help myself with pranks!” He hooted, spinning through the air, “And those barricade boys? They’ll be going places one day!” “Peeves, let me out of here at once!” Javert ordered, attempting to regain his poise. “Me? I’m just a poltergeist. I will do no such thing!” Peeves retorted, flying a tight circle around Javert before disappearing into the nearest classroom, cackling, and causing something to crash quite loudly. “You, then.” Teeth clenched, he turned towards the barricade boys, as Peeves had called them, “Free me at once. Or it’ll cost your precious house all the points you have left.” Their curly-haired leader stood up, which didn’t seem like the smart thing to do on this extremely chaotic-looking construction. “You are in no position to make threats. You see, you’re trapped. Your fate is up to us, the little people now!” Cheers came from his friends, and Javert’s heart dropped into his stomach, while his rage boiled up into his mouth. “You’re nothing. You’re First Years! You can’t stop me from – “ “But we are. You’re already late. And you’re not getting out of here.” The triumphant grin on the boy’s face made Javert feel like throwing up. Without further consideration, he was drawing his wand and pointing it at the one standing up, which made the kid promptly sit down again, crossing his arms as if to challenge Javert. “Stop!” They were interrupted. Someone was climbing up the barricade behind the boys, and Javert paled when he recognised his brown curls. This was the last person he needed. Especially now. “Enjolras, Grantaire, what’s going on?” Valjean asked the two boys in the middle. “We’re just getting some justice. He took so many house points from us, so we’re making him miss his exam.” The one called Enjolras pouted, and Valjean went on: “Marius, you’re with them too? I’m disappointed. In all of you.” “But no one’s going to bring justice!” Enjolras argued. Valjean’s voice softened, his eyes stayed stern. “I am. Now go back to the Common Room, boys.” Reluctantly, they obeyed, climbing down the barricade one by one. And Valjean came down towards Javert, whose head was spinning with a billion thoughts. _He’s going to kill me. He’s going to do it. This is it_. He thought and felt a strange anticipation. Swallowing hard, he put his wand away and looked Valjean in the eyes. “Get it over with, then. I have nothing to say to you.” But the Gryffindor’s eyes were soft, and his back was slightly bent. This was not the look of an executioner. “Get what over with? You’re going to your exam. We need to hurry!” “What about justice?” Javert found himself saying densely. “All in good time. Let me give you a hand.” When Valjean quite literally held out his hand, Javert was disassociated enough from his own mind to take it. And to follow Valjeans careful steps, up the dangerous mash-up of furniture. His own hands were clammy and not half as steady as Valjean’s, and he was painfully aware of that and nothing else. Softly, Valjean’s voice broke through the thick throbbing noises that filled Javert’s head. “Lucky coincidence I came along here. I was just going to wish you luck before your exam. I know you’ve been preparing for it a lot.” He had been. Not only to prove himself, but to ensure he’d have a good future, a good place in this world that was now falling to pieces. Nothing made sense. Before he knew it, they’d reached the bottom of the barricade and only when he let go of the other boy he realised how tightly he’d clutched his hand. He flinched and looked down his robes, his beautiful grey Sunday robes with the shining Slytherin Prefect badge. This was so unlike him. Who even was he any more. “You should run. Thank me by showing those people. You’ll do great.” Valjean’s words of encouragement didn’t really find home. Javert registered them, nodded hurriedly and walked away, only becoming faster, not daring to look back. Everyone stopped to look up at him when he entered the Great Hall, bathed in sweat. They were in the middle of their exams, every person from his Year. He felt as if they were looking at him with a magnifying glass, or maybe he just felt really, really small. “Mr. Javert. Your exam papers.” Professor McGonagall gave him a concerned and somehow empathetic look while handing him the seemingly endless roll of parchment, “Your quill and inkpot. Is everything alright?” He accepted everything she’d given him, nodded absently and hurried to an empty spot. Once there, he wrote his name onto the parchment that was as blank as his mind, after which the first question appeared magically. A drop of ink fell onto his hand just as he was zoning out again, distracting him. He could’ve sworn it took the shape of a flower before shrinking back to just a dot. He recoiled instinctively, knocking over the entire inkpot in the process and spilling it over his other arm. Pressing his eyes together hard, he attempted to force himself to see sense, but his vision didn’t change. In dark blue lines, orchids were flowering all over his forearm, opening and closing their petals slowly, as if they were beckoning him. Frantically, he rubbed it, then dragged his fingernails over the image, but the ink wouldn’t smudge. The image of the dozens of orchids just became clearer with the second. “Mr. Javert?” McGonagall called. He stumbled away from his table, still clawing at his arm. “Mr. Javert?” Shaking his head, unable to form words, he stumbled and stumbled, crashing into the door until it opened, he fleed the scene. “Hey!” Filch, who was supposed to stand guard, shouted after him. The professors getting up to follow him slipped his notice, he was moving too fast now, and they wouldn’t find him anyways. It was time all this madness found an end.


	4. Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if this is a sensitive subject for you, please take care while reading - or skip the main paragraph (it does spiral downwards there)

Not many people ever went close to the Big Lake, mostly because of the Giant Squid. He was all alone out there, just him, the flowers on his forearm and the infinite night sky stretching out above him and the castle in his back. The stars, that had once been his only ally, now seemed to be mocking him, hiding away behind wisps of clouds. Black and cold. He was failing, failing, failing on every level. The water is so cold through his shoes that he almost steps back, but something inside weighs him down, enabling him to wade in further. His breaths have slowed but his heart is still pulsing just as quickly as before. Doubt is eating him alive. Not doubt about the lake, not by far. His entire person, everything he thought was fixed in this life, is turning out to be untrue. _My heart is stone and still it trembles. The world I have known is lost in shadow._ The lake has swallowed him up to his waist when he hears steps echoing behind him. There’s no need for him to turn. Whoever it is, they’re too late. Unless… “What on _earth_ are you doing, Javert?” The panic in Valjean’s voice makes him look over his shoulder in spite of himself. He was shaking, he realised. The lake was freezing cold, after all. And he didn’t say anything because his throat was too tight. Valjean, stupid Valjean, was already wading into the water after him. “STOP!” Javert shouted, finding his own voice hoarse and brittle, “Just let me have this!” “Let you have what? You’re killing yourself, Javert!” But Valjean stopped where he stood, meters away from Javert. “Tell me this.” Javert said, ignoring his words, “You had the chance to pay me back for everything I’ve ever done to you. Why wouldn’t you?” His chest was heaving; the soft waves around him making his whole body tense up. “I never meant you any harm, don’t you get it?” The desperation in Valjean’s voice only aggravates everything. “Nonsense, you’re my enemy! It was your right to kill me and it is my right to die; I don’t want your debt, Valjean!” He spat, turning fully around to the Gryffindor and taking a step backwards. The icy water hugs his torso. “Stop, Javert! I don’t even know what you’re talking about. You need help!” Is Valjean crying? It doesn’t matter. Nothing does any more. “You did this to me!” Javert shouts, raising his ink-discoloured arm, “You did this to me. You’re making me do this!” The words seem to hit home. “I never meant to. Please, come out of the water. We’ll talk.” Valjean’s sentences come out quivering. He’s shamelessly pleading now, with no visible effect. “There’s no _we_ , don’t you get it? There’s either you, or me. And you’ve won.” Another step backwards. The currents are starting to pull at him. He can feel creatures moving underwater. “Who made these rules? They’re nonsense. Let me help you. I’ll help you, like you helped me. Let’s just help each other. We’ll figure it out. You’re not thinking straight right now.” Valjean took a few steps towards him, holding out his hand. _No. He’s tricking me. If I take his hand, I’ll owe him forever. That’s no way to live._ Javert’s mind was jumping from thought to thought, never once settling down. “This; this world; it cannot hold.” The words tumbled out of his mouth, leaving his throat dry like sandpaper. “It can. You’ll see. Just take my hand.” Tentatively, Valjean stretched out his hand further and to both of their surprise, Javert reached out too. They were still too far from each other, but the pulling ache, the need to close the distance burned up in both of their chests at once. Valjean hesitated a second to long and Javert, helpless and confused, let himself fall back. The waves took his chest, grabbing at his legs, and closed over his head. When he breathed in the first mouthful of water, he started panicking. But it was too late. It had been all along. His body was too numb from the cold, his mind too weakened from hours of conflict and panic and _so much anger_. Simultaneously, Valjean jumped and dove into the water, opening his eyes in the endless black, reaching out his hands to where Javert must be, somewhere. His fingers found the hem of a robe and he pulled frantically, thrashing against the current, his body fighting the temperature drop. All he had to do was hold on for just a few more seconds, he could do this, he’d been through worse… Blackness swallowed them.

 

“This young gentleman has refused to leave your side since yesterday.” Madam Pomfrey nodded at Jean Valjean, “He came back with a bit of hypothermia himself, but nothing a few spells couldn’t fix. Now you’re a tough nut to crack. Hypothermia, yes, but also some cranial trauma from the crashing waves, and ink poisoning. Was this makeshift tattoo your idea?” Javert’s eyes wandered to his arm that rests on top of the clean white sheets. For what feels like the first time in his life he didn’t say anything. No snapped reply. No snarky retort. “Anyway.” Madam Pomfrey continued, “I extracted most of the ink, but left the orchids, figuring you might want to keep them. They’re a work of art, after all. Now what were you thinking walking into the lake at night?” Her voice grew a reproachful edge and Valjean shook his head at her, after which she receded. “Fine. I’ll let you talk this out. But for future reference, Professor Sprout and I are available for counselling. You can also talk to any other teacher you feel comfortable around.” She got up to leave, and when Javert still didn’t speak, Valjean replied for him: “Thank you.” They were alone in the Hospital Wing. “So.” Valjean’s voice was quiet and low, he was sitting next to the bed, his hands folded in his lap. “I asked McGonagall if you’ll be allowed to re-take the exam and she said they’ll make an exception for you, since you hadn’t really written anything yet and are obviously dealing with some stuff.” Javert was still staring at his own arm, shallow breaths falling mechanically. Valjean went on: “You made it clear enough you don’t want to be friends. I respect that. But we don’t have to be enemies any more. That just sucks for both of us.” An attempted smile darted over his lips, he looked down when Javert didn’t respond. “I don’t want you dead. Nobody wants you dead. There are a lot of people offering you help, so please take it. I can’t stand to watch you suffer like this.” This was all he’d wanted to say. Reluctantly, he took his robes that he’d draped over his chair and stood up. He wasn’t expecting an answer, but when he met Javert’s eyes the other boy pressed out with an unchanged expression: “Okay.” It wasn’t much. But it was far more than Valjean could’ve hoped for. He cracked a smile. “I like your tattoo. It’s beautiful.” And he slowly left the room, feeling lighter than he had in weeks, feeling like maybe things would go uphill for him. For them. Finally.

 

“Take a bonbon, Mr. Javert.” Professor McGonagall pushed the bowl on her desk towards the student facing her. He held himself with poise, a broken sort of grace that seemed beyond his years. Javert took a bonbon. “I was told to seek help.” “I heard. I’m honoured you chose me. Where do you want to start?” Absent-mindedly, Javert chewed on the bonbon. After a while, he managed to find the right words. “I’d developed an unhealthy fixation on my enmity with Jean Valjean. It almost drove me to my death.” “And why is that, do you think?” McGonagall asked watchfully. “I’ve never learned to deal with feelings, Professor. I’m afraid I won’t be very good at this.” “Ah, don’t worry.” She took a bonbon herself, “Hogwarts is all about learning, trying and trying again. And I don’t mean to mingle, but I know for a fact that Jean Valjean cares very much.” His cheeks filled with warmth and he looked at his orchid-covered forearm. “So do I, Professor.”

 


End file.
